


The Long Ending

by hyperion



Category: Warrior (2011)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family, Gen, PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperion/pseuds/hyperion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What began after the movie ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Ending

Tommy was arrested as soon as Brendan had him back in his dressing room. The military police officers were aware of Tommy’s shoulder, but they still had to cuff him and no one trusted his hands in front. They arranged a transport to the hospital, where Brendan overheard the staff complaining about Do-It-Yourself MMA fighters being brought in over the past week, all because Sparta was in town and people thought they could wrestle their friends without training and without padding. A nurse actually gave Brendan the onceover, taking in his shorts, his gym shirt, and his face, and glared at him before pulling him aside to get him checked in so that they could bandage his wounds and X-ray his face. He had a fractured cheek bone.

By the time Brendan found Tommy’s room, Tommy had one arm cuffed to the bed and the MPs were outside his door. Brendan was afraid they wouldn’t let him in, but the two men just looked at each other, shrugged, and the one on the left said, “As long as no one notices.”

Paddy was already there. He was sitting by Tommy’s bedside, and Tommy was just sitting there with his head hanging, not saying anything. Brendan sat down on the foot of the bed, taking in Tommy in a hospital gown, bandaged, one arm in a sling, face as swollen and bruised as his own. “Tommy, I’m sorry,” Brendan said. Tommy didn’t reply. “What did the doctor say?” Brendan tried instead.

There was silence for a few moments. “The doctor said that there’s a torn muscle in his shoulder,” Paddy offered. “Wasn’t paying much attention to which one. Rotator cuff. Might require surgery.”

“Where were you?” Brendan asked, and it was so easy to make the question into an accusation.

Paddy just looked at him, and Brendan recognized that look. It was the morning after well-what-did-you-expect-from-me look, and Brendan knew that he had been drinking.

“What the fuck happened to your thousand days?” he demanded.

And it was on the tip of Paddy’s tongue. It was clenched in his teeth. The retort. The, “You boys happened! You wouldn’t give me anything! I tried so hard. I gave you everything you asked and you wouldn’t even give me a smile, a hug, nothing. You wanted me to call you or write, but you never picked up. You never wrote back. What did you think would happen?” But Paddy let that one go, let it dissolve in the air to add to the tension in the room. Paddy swallowed. “I made a mistake.” And that’s what being sober did to you. It made you stop blaming other people, even if you felt like they really deserved it, because you knew better. Because lashing out only made you feel good until it didn’t anymore and you turned back to drinking.

The door opened and Brendan looked up, hoping it was Tess and Frank. It would have taken them forever to get out of Boardwalk Hall and get through the traffic to the hospital. But it was another Marine, followed by Tommy’s doctor.

“I realize you’re from the Provost Marshal’s office, sir,” she said, “but you can’t take Conlon until I clear him.”

“Dr. Martinez, there is no reason to keep him. I have my orders.”

“I have two reasons to keep him,” Dr. Martinez argued back. “One: He needs surgery to fix that shoulder.”

“I’ve had that surgery,” the sergeant interrupted. “It’s practically an outpatient surgery. He can leave as soon as you’re done, so let’s get to it.”

“I’m not convinced that a simple laparoscopic surgery is going to fix this. Which is what I was trying to determine before you interrupted me.”

“The patient is stable,” the sergeant argued back. “You can transfer him to my custody and our doctor will determine the appropriate treatment.”

“Well, I could,” said Dr. Martinez, “but that brings me to the second reason I can’t let him go yet: I think he has PTSD and he needs a thorough psych eval.”

Tommy’s head popped up to take in the room and its occupants at the threat of a psychiatric evaluation. “I’m not crazy. I knew what I was doing when I deserted.”

“Tommy, shut up,” Paddy and Brendan both said.

“See?” the sergeant asked. “He’s sane.”

“I didn’t say he was insane,” Dr. Martinez defended. “I said he was suffering from PTSD. There’s a big difference. And excuse me if I don’t trust the military to handle mental health very thoroughly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The sergeant was affronted by her veiled accusation.

“It means I’m keeping him here until I’m satisfied that it’s okay to move him, because that’s my job.”

The sergeant – Croft was his name – stared Dr. Martinez down. When she didn’t give him an inch, he shook his head. “Notify my office as soon as he’s ready for transport.” He gave her a nod and looked at Tommy for a second before adding, “Oo-rah.”

“Oo-rah,” Tommy replied softly, and Croft left. Once he was gone, Tommy said to Dr. Martinez, “I’m really not crazy. You should just send me off with them.”

Dr. Martinez looked him over, considering, before crossing her arms and saying, “The whole world knows that you’re the only surviving member of your unit, and it was the United States that killed your friends, your brothers. And your reaction was to desert. To run off into enemy territory in Iraq. To cross border after border in an area of the world that sees your uniform as good target practice, all to get away from the Marines rather than returning to them. That’s suicidal, Mr. Conlon. And there’s no way you can convince me that seeing all of your fellow Marines die, and die at the hands of those who should have protected you, didn’t do something to you. So you are going to sit there and wait for the psychiatrist to get here to interview you. Any questions?”

Tommy was nearly gaping by the time she was done. “No, ma’am. I think that covers it.”

“Good,” Dr. Martinez said with a smile. “Now, I’m going to go see when we can get an OR for your shoulder. Should be a simple procedure. Laparoscopy. Small incisions. Recovery will be a bitch, though, with all the bleeding in the muscle cavity. I’ll send someone down with the forms for you to sign.”

And she left, leaving all three men surprised with how easily and passionately she had lied to protect her patient.

By the time Tommy was out of surgery, he had four new scars, a shiny new PTSD diagnosis that would practically guarantee him no time served, and a formal investigation into the friendly fire incident that killed everyone he loved. He only spent a few days recovering in the medical wing of the brig he was sent to on the local military base before he was acquitted, as the press kept hounding the Marines about him and they didn’t want any more of a scandal. Tommy’s and Brendan’s walk from the octagon kept being replayed on news networks, and the Marine Corps wanted the story to die down. Even better if they came out looking like heroes for freeing what public opinion deemed an obviously innocent man.

Part of Tommy’s release, however, stipulated that he undergo counseling. And his therapist, Eric, thought that Tommy would be unable to fully heal until he had come to terms with his family. Eric’s theory was that Tommy’s PTSD started when he was a child, due to Paddy’s alcoholism, his brother’s abandonment, and his mother’s illness and death. And even if it didn’t, Tommy’s childhood was obviously a contributing factor to his susceptibility to mental illness, leaving him ill-equipped to deal with such a trauma.

So not only did Tommy have one-on-one counseling with Eric, but also he had once weekly family counseling that involved his father and sometimes his brother. It had also been Eric’s suggestion that they have a family dinner once a week. Brendan still didn’t trust Paddy around his kids, so Brendan met Tommy and Paddy at Paddy’s house on Sundays. And if counseling had been awkward – Tommy refused to talk while his father and brother were there – dinner was worse.

Dinner was Paddy making something greasy, like Salisbury steak. It was Brendan trying to be civil. It was Tommy eating like he was still on a Marine chow line. And it was Brendan and Paddy trying to talk to one another, walking a very strange line between father and son and two adults getting to know each other, all while Tommy was silent.

Until one Sunday when Tommy said, “Pass the salt.”

The clatter of cutlery stopped immediately. “What was that?” Paddy asked.

“Salt. The gravy on the steak needs salt.” Tommy shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. “So do the potatoes,” he said after he swallowed.

“Here, Tommy,” Brendan said slowly, holding the salt shaker out for him like he wasn’t sure if the way he offered it would piss Tommy off or not.

Tommy took it. “Thanks.”

And that was the beginning of family dinners that were a little less tense. Tommy didn’t say much, but he got better at conversations. And he started participating in the family counseling too. Brendan caught on quickly to the fact that Tommy was testing the waters with innocuous subjects at dinner (“Pass the salt.” “Bread’s a little stale.” “Anyone else need more water while I’m up?”) to see if he and Paddy could be trusted. Brendan was aching for the day when Tommy would trust him again. Would he ever trust him with anything important?

He almost lost what little trust Tommy had in him when Pilar called Tommy to thank him for the money. It took a while for the prize money to actually make its way to Brendan’s hands, and when it did, he and Tess had a very short conversation about giving a portion of it to Pilar on Tommy’s behalf. After taxes and paying Paddy as Tommy’s trainer and paying Colt as Tommy’s agent, Brendan wrote a check to Pilar for one million dollars. Brendan figured it was fair, since Tommy really deserved part of the prize money. Not that he deserved a full half of it, Tess had argued, because he came in second place and because he wouldn’t take it.

“She’s my responsibility. Her family is my family!” Tommy shouted at him during counseling.

“I know that!” Brendan shouted back.

“It’s up to me to help her out. I don’t want your money.”

“I know you don’t. It’s why I didn’t make the check out to you.”

That shut Tommy up for a moment.

“Would you just accept the fact that I did the right thing for you? That prize money is yours too. It’s only fair. And since you had decided to send Pilar everything you won, if you won, I just took out the middle man.”

“But I’m the middle man here,” Tommy said.

“Yeah, and I figured if you didn’t want any of the money, if you were going to give it to Pilar anyway, then what’s the big deal? It still got to her. She knows it came from you. Why are you upset?”

Tommy crossed his arms agitatedly, rubbed his scruffy face, and grunted. “Should’ve told me, though.” And by that, Tommy meant that he accepted it and was trying not to be angry just because it was easy.

“Well, I would have. But I thought it would just piss you off.” And by that, Brendan meant that Tommy was a little shit, generally speaking, but he could see that Tommy was trying.

They both seemed to understand one another.

It wasn’t long after that that Tommy visited Brendan’s home. Tess had a pinched look, the same one she wore whenever Paddy would visit them years ago, like she was expecting to have to deal with a blow up at any second. Emily was quite taken with Tommy. She was more outgoing than Rosie. And Tommy was surprisingly game for her, talking to her more easily than Brendan could remember Tommy talking to him. And when Rosie tried to hide behind Tess, Tommy squatted down on her level and drew her out with a smile and playful tones. Tess finally relaxed too.

Tommy began taking on more responsibility at home with Paddy. He was out shopping for Sunday dinner when Dr. Martinez nudged him out of the way for a squash. “Good to see you again,” she said.

“You too, doc.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m good. Shoulder’s still a bit stiff, but I’m good.” She smiled in response and picked over the squash. “Thank you,” Tommy said, “for helping me.”

“It’s my job,” she said, finally choosing one.

“No. You could have let me be taken by the Provost Marshal. I could still be in prison right now if you hadn’t done what you did.”

Dr. Martinez smiled at him. “I see the therapy for the PTSD is working.” There was a warm silence between them, and it was the first time Tommy felt relaxed while talking to someone since Manny died. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dr. Martinez cut him off. “Don’t even think about asking me out on a date.”

Tommy shut his mouth with nearly a snap. Then he asked, “How did you know that?”

“Pretty typical, actually. Let me guess: I’m the only woman in your life who is dateable and will actually have a conversation with you.”

“Yeah.”

“You need some more women in your life, Tommy. And by the time that you make some real friends, the year-long no contact clause in my contract with the hospital should be up. It’s a privacy, abuse of authority, and protect-you-from-crazy-patients issue.”

Tommy shrugged. “I’ll probably still be here in a year. I think my therapist is hoping to retire on my family.”

Dr. Martinez smiled at him again. “Take care, Tommy.”

“You too.”

And Tommy realized that this was something that Eric had talked about, that they were working toward Tommy being able to let go of the anxiety and depression for little bits of time that would eventually become longer. And Tommy thought it was strange that one of those times was in the grocery store while he was shopping for something that was going to be stressful – no matter how much easier it had become – but maybe it would last through dinner.


End file.
